


The Stranger

by PseudonymVirtue



Category: Final Fantasy VI
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mild Smut, Mostly Gen, One Shot Collection, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-20
Updated: 2018-10-14
Packaged: 2019-05-09 06:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 20,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14711156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PseudonymVirtue/pseuds/PseudonymVirtue
Summary: Locke betrayed Celes with his doubt, and the result fed a physical pain in his chest.





	1. Chapter 1

_“But I'm still your friend...”_

 

The brisk air of an early autumn night chilled him as Celes rebuffed him.

 

She was never a spy, despite the rumors and stray accusations among the Returners, and he, in a moment of weakness failed to believe in her.

 

Celes stiffened at his words and turned from him. Locke wasn't even granted the icy glare she was undoubtedly wearing for him; instead he only saw the cascading pale blonde tendrils that flowed about her waist as she walked away, her form disappearing into the night.

 

It stung when he saw her earlier that day as she pretended to be a stranger to him. Mayeb it was the fact that she looked the healthiest he'd ever seen her; her cheeks were filled in with color and she appeared broader, stronger. Her eyes no longer carried dark circles and her hair even looked shinier, glinting like gold in the moonlight, rather than the gnarled braid she'd sport after several days on the road without a bath.

 

She was surely getting fed by the Empire better than she had been during her time with the Returners, and resuming her former trainer regimen. It showed.

 

He called her name.

 

Celes continued to walk faster now, her feet quick and light down the stairs until she disappeared from him completely.

 

He wanted to follow her, to grab her by the arm and spin her around and demand that she look at him and acknowledge him. If he were a different man, then perhaps he would.

 

Instead he only watched what remained of her form and cursed under his breath, the night breeze stirring goosebumps on his flesh.

 

Locke missed her. Traitor or not, he wanted her company again. Her low and firm voice that commanded attention also bore her dry sense of humor that could make him erupt in laughter, or describe subtle observations about people that even he didn't notice at first.

 

He inhaled deeply, slowly releasing the air in his lungs. He had a long ship ride ahead of him in the morning, but he knew the night wouldn't let him sleep. Not yet.

 

Locke walked to the pub instead, hands shakily moving to his pockets, chin dipped to his chest.

 

The memory of the siege on Narshe swirled in his mind.

 

He an Celes had been paired off together, as they'd spent quite a bit of battles on the road fighting back to back. The snow had cast a fierce glare in the sunlight, causing his eyes to burn and squint. Celes moved around him like a whirlwind, her hair swinging in the opposite the direction of her sword. Ice emerged from the ground at her command, causing their foes to shriek and their machinery to malfunction.

 

She'd looked back at him then, blue eyes serene in the midst of battle, lips parted. She was quick, though not faster than him.

 

A beast overcame her from behind, pinning her to the ground before she could react. Locke dove, and using his body as leverage as he wrapped his arms around the creature to knock it sideways, sinking a knife into it's chest as it clenched his arms with it's teeth amidst a shrill howl.

 

* * *

 

“Hold still.”

 

They sat afterwards in a house offered to them by a sympathizer. They were in the kitchen alone, Celes hovering over him on a stool as he sat at the kitchen table, arm outstretched and she worked at him with a pair of tweezers.

 

He grimaced, squeezing his eyes shut, being as obedient as he could.

 

“I don't think there's anything there.” He seethed through clenched teeth.

 

“There's a reason your wound isn't closing after I cast cure on it multiple times.” She replied matter of factly.

 

Her eyes narrowed. She braced his forearm with one hand, almost numbing him with her icy palm. Her other arm controlled the tweezers tediously, raising and lowering her elbow to adjust to the angle she needed.

 

There was something in his arm that Celes was palpating. And he could feel every inch of it through a gritted jaw.

 

“A ha.”

 

She pulled the tweezers from him, revealing the troublesome tooth that had lodged in his arm after he pulled the beast from her.

 

He exhaled in relief. If she continued much longer he wasn't sure how he could bare it without tears.

 

“You want to keep it?” She asked him teasingly, one eyebrow raised.

 

Locke chuckled. “Keep it? For what?”

 

Celes shrugged, dropping the tooth into the table. “Sometimes my men kept trophies like this.”

 

He mustered a witty response that he could no longer recall, but he did remember how a rare small crept upon her lips and she cast a healing spell upon him.

 

Warm light resonated from her hands, overpowering his pain until it was nothing more than a tingle. More than anything, Locke was relieved it was over with without him forming tears as a result.

 

Her hair was still wet from her bath after the battle, neatly combed strands clinging together over her shoulders. Her eyelashes stuck together in a similar fashion.

 

The only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

 

He wished he knew what was going through her mind as she looked at him then.

 

Her expression was peaceful and relaxed: no furrowed brows and stern grimaces.

 

He only looked back to her. A hand steadily trailed up his bare arm.

 

“Celes-”

 

He started to speak her name before she leaned down from her stool and kissed him. He froze for a moment, almost withdrawing his lips from hers in shock. Her fingertips were all along his jawline now, and he felt her close her lips and swallow, whether it was out of hesitation or nerves he didn't know, but looking back he wanted to.

 

He wanted to know if she hesitated. And why.

 

Locke snaked his fingers to the back of her head, tangling his long, nimble fingers in the strands of her damp hair as he pressed his lips to hers again. She responded eagerly and moved a hand to his neck, hovering over a harsh pulse there.

 

The air was still and the clock continued ticking.

 

She was bold and he was willing, and when they parted she looked at him for a moment, before pushing the stool back with her toes and leaving him in the kitchen alone with a tray on the table baring the tweezers and the tooth.

 

* * *

 

Sitting at the bar, he contemplated the kiss.

 

Dawn would come in a few hours, and tomorrow he would likely face Celes again as a stranger.

 

The ice in his glass clinked as he finished the last of his drink, waving the bartender over for a refill.

 

The heartache was all too familiar to him; he'd seen the rejection in Rachel's amnesiac eyes when she sent him away. He obeyed then, and the girl was now a corpse in suspended animation; a ghost that haunted him in the flesh.

 

Locke betrayed Celes with his doubt, and the result fed a physical pain in his chest.

 

He loved her.

 


	2. Captivity

The back of her throat burned as the cool water washed over it, causing her to cough and gasp, gripping the canteen in shaky hands. They were still weak with lack of circulation from the tight iron shackles.

 

Her savior cast a nervous look over his shoulder and back at her, bringing a finger to his lips.

 

 _“Let's go.”_ He said in a hushed whisper.

 

Celes obliged, taking another gulp of the liquid and wincing at it went down. A day or so of torture had done a number on her. She was covered in her own filth, stripped of her own armor and dignity.

 

He pulled her to her feet and she did her best to keep up with his pace, prompting Locke to fetch the key from her sleeping guard.

 

She had a horrible limp, favoring her right side and swatting Locke's hand away when he attempted to steady her. It wasn't ideal, having to be rescued by a man from the rebel faction, but she had little choice in the name of survival.

 

As she hobbled to the hall Locke reached into his side pocket, tossing her two vials of potion. “At least take these,” He said in a low voice, “We'll won't get outta here with you gimping like that.”

 

She shot him a cold look, but obediently took the caps off the vials and swallowed the contents.

 

She eyed the man suspiciously. Was this some elaborate psychological torture scheme dreamt up by Kefka? She knew the methods that creep endorsed when it came to those he set his sight upon.

 

Locke had platinum blonde hair, lighter than her own, and soft brown eyes that had a certain kindness in them. He held a benevolence framed by sharp features and defined cheekbones. She summed up that he was at least trustworthy enough to rely on this one time.

 

“Water.” She commanded in a hushed tone.

 

He nodded, passing the canteen back to her. She pretended not to notice him scanning her for a similarly detailed evaluation.

 

Celes drank that water, self conscious enough to hide how eager she was for the wetness to quench her dry tissues.

 

She had no armor. She had no weapon. But she did the best she could, summoning her magic to aid him as best she could against the stray soldiers who encountered them in the cellars.

 

After their first kill she patted down the soldier's body, quietly turning to Locke to offer him several coins she found on the corpse. She then pulled a sword from the ground where he fell, standing and observing it closely in the dim light. It felt odd, looting the corpse of one of the men she used to command. But he was also one of the men stationed here to contain her, and possibly to escort her to her execution.

 

Locke wasn't the typical wanderer, she could tell by the way he knelt down and turned the man on his side, fingers feeling briskly under the armor, knocking several glass vials to the ground with several _clinks_ as he did so.

 

“You Imperials always carry more than you look like you are.” He noted to her somewhat humorously, pocketing the vials in his jacket. “This will come in handy. It'll be a while before I get you to an inn.”

 

* * *

 

They climbed a staircase. The air was getting progressively less stagnate as the ascended.

 

She huffed, clutching her side in one hand and her newly acquired sword in the other.

 

“Those hunger cramps are killin' you, huh?” Locke observed, “I'll get you something good when we're far enough away to start a fire.”

 

It was true it had been a while since she had a meal, other than the piss her captors forced her to drink.

 

“Why are you helping me?” She asked weakly.

 

The were paused in front of a door, streams of sunlight falling through the cracks, notifying them that they were close to a successful escape.

 

She studied him as he hesitated, dark eyes flitting from one of hers to the other.

 

“Because you remind me of someone.”

 

'Someone?'

 

* * *

 

They made their first camp before midnight. Locke tasked her with cleaning up by a stream while he went to hunt for dinner.

 

She had no objection, though she felt a little pathetic for relying on him for a meal after he saved her from her captivity. He was her crutch the whole last mile, as she pushed herself beyond what she knew her body would accept as possible exertion.

 

Celes peeled off her clothing, wincing as some of the fabric separated from her wounds. She rinsed them as best she could in the stream, and hung them on a limb as she bathed.

 

It was hardly an evening in a spa, but as she dipped her scalp into the water, tilting her body back massaging it with her fingertips, she felt heavenly. Her lips parted and she let out a small gasp of pleasure as water flooded between her hairs, clearing it of debris and blood and sweat.

 

Several trout splashed around her, and she watched in silence at their antics.

 

There was a chill in the air, but that rarely affected her. She'd received regular transfusions of magic as a child, and a decreased susceptibility to the elements was one of the perks of being Cid's experiment.

 

The water swirled around her as it flowed. She splashed it on her face, and in her mouth, swished it and gulped it down, suddenly conscious of how foul her breath must've been.

 

* * *

 

Celes returned the the campsite, wringing the rest of the water from her hair and reaching behind her head to tie it in a tight bun behind her head.

 

Locke already had a fire prepared and a tent pitched.

 

She stopped when she saw the meal over the fire. Several large trout impaled on spokes, turned carefully over the flames. Locke knelt over them, stripped of his jacket and bandana, leaving over the fire with his white shirt and slacks clinging loosely to him.

  
His own wet hair clung to his neck, fixed in position.

 

Anger surged through her. “You were in the river?”

 

Locke jumped, startled by her presence and dropped the spoke. He brought both hands in the air as if to ease her and she contemplated charging him.

 

“No!” His eyes were wide.

 

Celes stopped, furrowing her brow and motioning to the fish. “You clearly were. It was your suggestion that I bathe and you-”

 

“-I was down stream from you.”

 

Celes' eyes narrowed. “How do you know?”

 

“I saw where you headed when you left! There wasn't anything good in the area and I decided to fish.”

 

“Do you often fish naked?” She pressed, mildly amused at his discomfort, though still angry that he was in the river with her without her knowledge or consent.

 

“No! It just seemed that I may as well bathe, since I was already in the water you know?” He paused, but adding lowly, “It made sense at the time.”

 

“You 'may as well?'”

 

“For your sake.”

 

Celes took another step toward him ominously. He flinched.

 

“You're the one that has to smell me, you know.” He continued.

 

He was coy as he was charming, she had to give him that. But she didn't see any indication that he was seeking to invade her privacy in any way; he seemed genuine.

 

“Alright, then.” Celes walked slowly to the fire, easing herself down and flinching a little as her joints protested such movement.

 

Locke jumped up to help her, but recoiled as she shot him a glance.

 

He wasn't like any other man she met. The soldiers under her command respected her because they had to, but the second she was denounced by the Empire they locked her in a basement room with sadistic guards that found pleasure in her humiliation and pain. Locke was a foreigner with no debt to her who came to her aid, and so far asked for nothing in return.

 

He would undoubtedly ask her to join his little rebellion. If anything, it would be a suggestion with an air of benevolence. He had to have known that a disgraced former General was being kept beneath the great house in South Figaro.

 

It couldn't have been an accident they met.

 

“I was down river. There was no way I could see anything if I _wanted_ to.” He looked at her, pleading for her trust.

 


	3. Bristle Hole

Locke had seen the rain in the desert only once, during his first trek south from Narshe to South Figaro.

 

It happened in the same town he and Celes stopped in on their way back up north to Narshe. The sun gave no warning, blaring down on the duo as they made their way in the oasis town of Bristle Hole.

 

Celes had torn a long strip of fabric from the hem of her prisoner tunic. The thin white fabric was made grey from their travels, and stained with brown patches from the blood of her wounds. She wore it wrapped around her head and face, only leaving two almond shaped eyes to Locke's view.

 

He had pressed her to go further than where she was comfortable. He swore to her there was a town in the desert, away from the prying eyes of the Empire.

 

And he had proved himself right. It was as simple as leading her over a sand dune, and the glistening waters of the oasis shone back at them.

 

Celes fell to her knees.

 

“I was beginning to think you brought me here to kill me.” She rasped, her voice hoarse from dehydration.

 

“Kill you? Don't you think I could've had an easier time doing that some other way?” Locke chuckled at her, feeling somewhat stung by the persistent resistance she'd shown to having faith in him.

 

“Kefka has some awfully elaborate ways of killing people.” She murmured.

 

Locke stopped from where he strode several paces in front of her.

 

“Well I don't know what more I could do to convince you,” He said shaking his head, “I'm not with Kefka. I'm with the Returners.”

 

He looked over his shoulder at her. It was a chilling sight, seeing her brought to her knees from exhaustion, and the whites of her eyes turned red. He knew better than to help her up, and chose to walk slowly to the town, giving her ample time to stand up on her own and follow him.

 

He led her to the only inn in town, which wasn't as much of an inn as it was the waterfront home of a wealthy merchant who left his wife in charge as he traveled the world freely. There were only two guestrooms total.

 

“I only have one room for you Locke,” The elderly merchant's wife told him frankly as he tried to talk her into two. “You'll have to make do.”

 

Locke set a generous amount GP onto the table and pushed it over to her, “We'll make do. If you can get my friend here some new clothes with the extra cash.”

 

The wife nodded in Celes' direction. “You poor dear. I'll leave them outside of your bath.”

 

Celes only nodded, her pride had notably suffered serious blows as of late, and she undoubtedly had no shame in letting a little old lady go shopping for her in a town that was all but few shops.

 

* * *

 

Locke sat in the room, waiting for Celes to return from the bath. The room was small, but it's furniture was among the finest he had ever stayed among, consisting of a great-sized bed in the center with a sofa, chair, and small armoire arranged around it.

 

Lock peeled off his jacket, boots, and socks and sank into the plush sofa. A foul odor made him wrinkle his nose and told him he wouldn't fare well to ignore the stench.

 

He wandered out to the water, socks and boots in tow, his pants rolled up to his knees.

 

* * *

 

He saw her, standing on her own out in the water. She was dressed in different clothes, and her hair was several shades lighter than he was accustomed to. It flowed freely in the cool desert breeze, telling him that she had finished her bath quite some time ago.

 

Locke lowered his belongings and the soap to the ground and he stepped out into the water, his feet tingling as they dipped beneath the surface, wading out to his newfound travel companion.

 

Celes paid him no attention. From where he stood he could see that her eyes were closed and the water was nearly waist level, lapping at the edges of her new blouse.

 

She moved her arms at her sides so that her fingertips just barely skirted the water, brushing it ever so slightly.

 

Locke waded out a little farther. The moon was full, and it cast a silvery cold glow on what would normally be a warm and daunting landscape, broken only by an occasional structure that offered a reflection on the rippled surface of the water hole.

 

He'd read about the history of this place after his first visit. It's earliest documented appearance being in the dreams of illusions of desperate travelers, always unattainable, yet always in sight.

 

He moved too fast for her comfort. Her eyes snapped open. Cold, clear blue, narrowed like the point of a spear. Her fingertips emanated ice, freezing the surface of the lake into a solid thin plate that caused him to gasp in pain and surprise as it spread around his thighs.

 

Celes turned to him abruptly, eyes widening in recognition of the situation.

 

“Locke,” She breathed his name harshly, breaking the ice coating into shards as she did the best she could to run to him. The water melted and swirled around her, appearing white and frothy from the sudden changes in state under the glow of the moonlight.

 

He shuddered, stepping back slowly so that he was out of the lake completely by the time she approached him.

 

“I-I'm sorry,” She stammered, “I didn't know you were there.”

 

Her eyes were wide now and apologetic, a look he'd never seen on her before. He continued to shake and his teeth chattered. His arms crossed his chest, mustering body heat for comfort.

 

“I-It's o-o-kay.” He managed. “I s-snuck up on you I-I guess.”

 

Celes looked down at the ground, the ice behind her slowly melting into ripples and swirls of water, flowing freely to any part of the lake.

 

“Sometimes I meditate and practice. It's been a while and the water was making me nostalgic, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry.”

 

“M-magic makes you nostalgic?” He willed the spasms to stop. He could tell he was making her self conscious with his shock.

 

 _'Do something natural.'_ He told himself, and forced himself to bend down beside him and grab his dirty articles of clothing and soap and knelt by the lake where she stood.

 

“The water did, yes.”

 

“Why's that?” He knelt down and dipped a rag into the water to scrub the inner lining of his boots lightly, careful not to let water build up on the interiors.

 

“Surely you've heard the stories about me?”

 

“I've heard stories of you, yes.” Locke replied honestly, shaking the excess water loose and resuming to gather the rest of his garments.

 

He saw her wince at the corner of his eye before continuing. She was undoubtedly more vulnerable than he'd ever seen her in their short time together, even more so than the day he rescued her from torture.

 

“Then you know of my affinity for ice.”

 

Locke smothered a grimace. He'd heard of and seen things in Maranda that could only be her doing.

 

Still, the woman who stood before him, who lay chained before him in a basement of South Figaro, was entirely different than the demon he'd heard of from villager hearsay. Celes was complicated, with layers that appeared to him with every subtle change in temperature, or so it seemed.

 

“I've heard of it.” He replied cryptically.

 

She sighed, obviously exasperated at his vagueness.

 

“I had no choice, Locke. I've never had a choice” She said softly.

 

He continued to work, mildly delighted by how many shades closer to white his socks appeared to be, and simultaneously saddened by her words. He listened to her in silence.

 

“I was infused to Magitek technology as a child. I have vague memories of my real parents, I only know they offered me to the Empire for the sake of research.”

 

Locke thought for a moment, feeling her eyes settle on him.

 

“It sounds like your parents thought they were making a sacrifice for the greater good.” He observed matter-of-factly, “I agree that you never had a choice, and I'm sorry for that. But you have a choice now, right?”

 

“Do you believe that was their reasoning?” She said, hushed now.

 

“I don't know,” He shook his head, wringing out his socks as he stood. “It's just what makes sense in my head. It can't be easy to give your child up forever, right?”

 

His heart stung when he thought of Rachel. “Or anyone you love, at that.”

 

Locke felt several pelts of moisture hitting his face. He blinked, determining whether it was truly raindrops or Celes' magic. or an illusion that originally gave the Bristle Hole it's allure.

 

“Celes-”

 

“I feel it too.” She responded. “It wasn't me.”

 

Locke moved quickly, forcing himself to finish recovering from the shock of her ice spell.

 

“We'd better move quickly, if you want to stay clean.” His mind flashed of memories of the first rains he'd witnessed in that land.

 

They rushed back to the inn, both barefoot, him with his boots ans socks in tow. Within moments the rain fell in a full torrent, as if the sky opened up and emptied a full bucket of water upon the sand. It stuck to their feet like muck, slurping and spilling on the ground.

 

They entered their room with hushed tones, Locke turning around and giving her the privacy she needed to pull off her wet leggings and retire to the bed before he did the same.

 

The rain had stopped already, as that was how the rare rains in the desert fell: hard, fast, and ending before one could tell when they began.

 

Locke dozed off quickly on the sofa, though he woke for a spell briefly in the night when his eyes settled on the sight of her bare spine, it's nodules prominent and smooth. When he was conscious enough to know what he was looking at he turned to face the back of the sofa with it's red fabric instead.

 

His thoughts wandered to the sight of Celes in the water, elegant and poised. He was correct in confiding that she reminded him of someone he loved dearly, but she was also unlike anyone or anything he'd ever met before. She was strong, but vulnerable in the right light. She could be harsh and crude, but clever and regal. And, he selfishly thought to himself that on the lake she looked beautiful.

 

He lied to her when he first rescued her in South Figaro. She wasn't like Rachel at all.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the readers and reviews so far! I apologize for any grammatical errors- I know they really annoy me when I'm reading something. I have to blame the wine though, it makes the words flow but does not make me a very effective proof reader apparently!


	4. Intentions in Narshe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celes recalls the battle on Narshe.

Celes had her final transfusion a week after her seventh birthday.

 

Slow piano music poured through the halls of Cid's extensive laboratory to the small partition where the young girl was treated. She sat calmly, small hands in her lap that nervously played with the hem of her pink dress. She was surrounded by glass bottles of liquid that linked together through glass catheters link to the needle in her arm. She didn't like needles, but she was also accustomed to them. It was the bottles, catheters, and wires that scared her a lot more.

 

Cid appeared from behind the partition. He smiled at her warmly. “Well, my girl!” He greeted her, “I believe we're done!”

 

Celes offered a soft smile in response, fidgeting slightly in the chair.

 

He sat on a stool across from her and rolled so that he was positioned directly in front of her, pulling a stuffed bear from the shelf over her head and offering it to her free hand. She took it and wrapped her arm around it and squeezed as he'd instructed her to do so many times before. He adjusted some dials on the bottles, slowing the rate of the infusions and began the process of remove the needle from her arm.

 

“I have a surprise for you, you know.” He said softly, eyes shooting to hers through his brown bushy eyebrows.

 

“A surprise?” She repeated, jumping at the sensation of the needle being pulled from under her skin.

 

“Yes.” Cid said, pressing a small gauze to her arm and taping over it, “You deserve it.”

 

Her smile grew.

 

“Well C'mon now, let's go see.” He offered her his hand and she took it as he pulled her from the chair and through the halls.

 

Her blue eyes grew at the sight of Cid's tanks; they full of monsters and creatures that would twitch and gnash their teeth and swipe at the glass.

 

“Don't worry about them,” He reassured her gently, “They can't hurt you.”

 

Celes walked quietly and looked at her feet instead, letting him lead her along by the hand.

 

“I've met a lot of children through my work,” Cid told her proudly, “None of them were as brave as you, Celes.”

 

They stepped into an elevator. Cid pushed a button and turned a key from his pocket next to it. They were going to her play room.

 

“You're going to be special.”

 

Celes remained silent. All she could remember was sessions like this in Cid's lab and being told the same thing, it had little meaning to the girl.

 

The elevator doors opened, and he led her down the hall to her playroom. It was a collective room for all the children Cid studied, but she was the only one left, so it was all hers now.

 

Cid's surprise towered over he,r front and center of the other toys. It was a large dollhouse, with twelve rooms stacked by fours on top of each other.

 

Celes let go of Cid's hand and stepped forward to examine the house. The furniture was detailed and pretty. The dining table and chairs carved and painted with swirls of pink, with the emblem of the Empire at the center. Her hands brushed over the set of four dolls in the front room: A father, mother, daughter, and son.

 

“What do you think? Should we keep it?” Cid asked, amused at the girl's wonder.

 

“Yes.” She held the mother doll, examining the pretty blue dress.

 

* * *

 

The sun was setting on Narshe as they approached. Celes was feeling the closest she could to her old self; her steps were smooth and light again. Her bruises had faded some, which Locke took credit for- their third night at camp he'd gathered some bark and boiled it, making a salve that he insisted she put on her injuries.

 

“Celes.”

 

She paused and spun around to look at her companion, since on the contrary to the beginning of their journey, she could now trail ahead of him.

 

He huffed, breathing heavily as he cast their gear down and sat on it.

 

“How are you not winded? I'm more used to this elevation that you should be.” He furrowed his brow at her as he took a swig of the canteen.

 

“Perhaps you're out of shape.” She said matter-of-factly. Her eyes flashed to his so that he would see it was a tease. They had established a subtle sense of ease she hadn't had with anyone that she could remember.

 

“Yeah.” He smiled and shook his head and panted, “Good thing I have you to protect me out here right?” He was scratching a spot on his back under his jacket.

 

“You want to talk now?” She cut the playful conversation short with the blunt question.

 

“Yeah,” Locke answered, pulling his arm back from under his jacket. “Before we enter the city.”

 

Her lips were pursed in a straight line. She knew where this was going. Locke had mentioned what his intentions were when they got to Narshe, though he never directly asked her what hers were, only giving her vague hints to choose for herself.

 

“If the Empire attacks while we're here, you'll be caught in the middle. I just want to make sure you don't get pulled into something because of me... you don't owe me anything.”

 

She said nothing, walking over to him and slowly squatted down beside him.

 

“I'm a traitor to the Empire, remember?” She said dryly.

 

His dark eyes stared back at her, almost appearing hazel from the brilliant reflection of the snow. “So I've heard. But it's your home.”

 

“They took me from my family before I could speak, infused me with magic without my knowledge or consent, they put me on a pedestal and made me their soldier, and yet when I expressed any sort of thought that was my own they declared me a traitor, so they chained me in a basement and sentenced me to death.” She practically spit when she talked, feeling her nose wrinkle in disgust.

 

“Let them come and face me beside you and your comrades.” She finished finally, looking back at him as he listened to her.

 

Locke nodded. “Okay.” He paused for a moment and smiled, as if contemplating carefully what he was going to say next. “I was hoping you'd want to help us.”

 

She supposed a normal girl would have swooned at his kindness and his smiles, but she was too anxious to enter the city and get things moving to swoon.

-

Celes knew there would come a day when she would face the ones who suffered at the hands of her sins, but she wasn't quite ready.

 

She stood in the Elder's house, Locke by her side as Cyan bellowed at her about Maranda. Her eyelashes fluttered shut and then opened again slowly. In reality, he was outraged about Maranda itself, but he had no idea of the depth of evil that was poured into that plot, executed by her. The poor villagers from the outskirts she paid to conduct sabotage and gain information prior to killing them, the wine that was poured in her honor as Kefka and Gestahl laughed at the pathetic results of the slaughter.

 

She was a good killer, but she was tired of it.

 

This battle was different. Her participation was her choice, and her opponent was actually one that she viewed as her enemy. Her kills were vexing and it showed in her stamina as she launched herself at Kefka.

 

She and Locke hadn't spoken much about their history or pasts; she got the sense that he was just as guarded to her as she was to him. Their conversations on the road consisted more of silly games he'd play or shallow observances of the world around them.

 

He was insecure and defensive of certain things, she noticed for the first time when she picked up his blade at camp and eyed the length of it.

 

“This is a fine blade for a thief.” She noted and he sprung forward and nimbly snatched it from her.

 

“I'm not a thief!” He told her humorlessly as he sheathed it in some hidden pocket beneath his jacket. The contradiction between the action and his words amused her.

 

“I suppose South Figaro was the first basement you've infiltrated? The first time you swindled a key was from the guard who was keeping me? And I was the first woman you professed your will to protect?”

 

The last sentence caused him to visibly stiffen. He was silent. Celes noted it to be the onset of some painful memory and dropped the subject.

 

* * *

 

Celes closed the door to the house and leaned against it desperately, as if willing herself to forget the man who was inside.

 

 _She'd kissed him._ Her heart pounded in her chest and her muscles tensed. She was embarrassed and confused, thinking how she never wanted to see him again but did not want to part from his company at the same time. She wasn't impulsive; she'd been trained better than that.

 

Every action must have a deliberate purpose, so what was the purpose of a kiss? She'd had several such encounters with men before, some gone further than such a simple act.

 

His companions' words swirled around her, haunting her, leading her to believe that they played some part in such an emotional outburst.

 

But he kissed her back.

 

She shook the thought, immediately willing herself to forget it ever happened.

 

“Celes?”

 

Her head shot to her right shoulder in the direction of the familiar voice. It was the King Edgar, a man she'd met previously at an engagement between Figaro and the Empire. Rumors of him wandering off with a diplomat's wife had dominated the entire affair, leaving many within the Empire with a sour taste of the man.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

Celes shrugged, doing her best to calm her nerves. “I-I'm fine. I was just resting, is all.”

 

Edgar's eyes shot to the window of the home, knowingly observing Locke at a table alone, bandaging his own wound.

 

“I see. I was headed to the Elder's house. He's hosting a little celebration for us before you all head out tomorrow.”

 

“I thought we should leave soon to track Terra.” She replied, reluctantly following him as he motioned for her to do so.

 

“We won't be be any good to her if we don't make it out of the mountain range. Have you ever traversed such terrain after dark? It's not good.”

 

His eyes settled on her unnervingly as he opened to door to the great house, motioning for her to go inside. “You looked-er you did great today, General Celes.”

 

She said nothing, unsure of what to make of his attempt at flirtations.

 

She found herself in a mildly more friendly atmosphere than she had earlier. The elder had prepared mulled wine over the fireplace and the air was filled with the musk of dark spices like cinnamon and cloves and the sweet scent of preserved fruits over flame.

 

The townspeople drifted in and approached her, shook her hand, and thanked her for her service. It was an odd outside the crowd of Gestahl's inner circle who would do the same while making sadistic jokes about townspeople such as this.

 

Locke entered sometime later, helping himself to the warm wine and brandy in his cup as he embraced several familiar people around the room.

 

She watched him, sipping the drink from her mug and self consciously moving her eyes away when he caught her gaze.

 

It was too late. He crossed the room, dividing a path through the growing group of people.

 

“Hey.” He said, stopping in front of her to pick a spot beside her on the bench where she sat alone.

 

“Hey.” She responded curtly, refusing to make eye contact.

 

An awkward silence passed.

 

“I'm sorry about before. It was- I was confused. I'm sorry.” She stumbled over her words like bubbles in a brook.

 

“Hey, don't be sorry.” He chuckled, bringing his mug to his lips again before coyly adding, “I have that affect on women. It's not your fault.”

 

She rolled her eyes and snorted at his simple and feigned pompousness. He didn't appear to think much of it, and for that she felt incredibly relieved and somewhat hurt.

 

“Tomorrow we head out for Kohlingen.” He changed the subject.

 

“I've never been.” She replied.

 

“No? I grew up there after my dad passed away. I haven't been back in a while.”

 

She sat in silence beside him, contemplating how she didn't know any of the information he'd just disclosed. She was grateful she'd never touched Kohlingen the way she had Maranda.

 

They sat there for the duration of the evening, side by side, sipping on their mugs and exchanging small talk with strangers. She was as tense as ever, but something about her newfound identity helped her feel more at ease.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this couple but I'm trying to to tie more of the ensemble cast into these one shots. I'm glad I got this chapter done so quickly because I'm going to be moving across country for my job in the next few days and it'll be a little bit before I'm settled enough to update!


	5. How the Night Came to Be

Locke leaned over her, his hand closed over hers on her chest. Rachel was so lifelike, with the dew on the skin over her freckled nose, her pink lips and cheeks, and her dark, thick eyelashes that framed what he missed most when he visited her.

 

It was here he allowed himself to pour through the memories of her. Their first kiss happened in the woods behind this house- she'd sneak out in the night to see him and he'd take her to the lake in the woods.

 

He'd pull off his clothes, leaving his underwear and jump in, causing her to laugh and squeal as he splashed at her and begged her to join him. It took several nights, but eventually she followed suit.

 

There was a summer of hazy night like this, when the cicadas sang and the nightflowers bloomed. It took him several nights of her joining him in the lake for him to gather the nerve to pull her against him and kiss her.

 

She was shy, hesitating at first and looking back at him, her ebony hair sealed to the back of her head from the water. The next night she allowed him to kiss her longer, until she gathered the courage to pull him by the bare shoulders and cup his jaw and neck when he leaned into her- which was beginning to happen a lot.

 

They'd swim like that until dawn, splashing and jumping and talking. Rachel would cling to his shoulders and wrap her legs around his waist, her corset pushed against his chest with her hair moving around him, darker than the black water of the night.

 

Their faces were wet and their kisses were messy, but neither seemed to mind. His eyes were closed as he took in every sensation of her, the light squeeze of her thighs, her arms around his neck, her hair brushed his sides in the water like silk ribbons.

 

_“Locke...”_

 

* * *

 

He now lay in a clearing nearby, where the grass was somewhat short from the dense growth of nightflowers that choke it at the root. He lay on his back, arms stretched out leisurely above his head. How many nights did he retreat to this forest? It was the place where he wasn't simply the foreigner son of a vagrant. He was exactly what he wanted to be.

 

Celes approached him on his right, emerging from the treeline. Her skin had gone several shades darker from their travels in the sun and her clothes from Bristle Hole had collected stubborn dust on the road, but in the moonlight she appeared pale and ethereal- like a ghost.

 

“I was told I would find you here.” She said softly, settling down in the grass next to him. She crossed her ankles, boots resting one on top of the other, towering over him from where he lay with his back pressed to the ground.

 

Kohlingen had a physical effect on him sometimes. It was as if Rachel would smile from the earth, infecting the ground and the air around him. He would breathe her through his lungs and no amount of exhalation could purge her from his mind.

 

Contrary to what most people insisted, Rachel wasn't a ghost; she was a young girl asleep in the ground, but she wasn't buried; she was asleep.

 

“ _Who_ told you to find me here?” He muttered in mock offense.

 

“Pete.”

 

“I'm surprised he talked to you.” Locke pondered, for a moment. “He never used to talk to pretty girls.”

 

Celes ignored the indirect compliment. “What would he do instead? Run away?”

 

Locke chuckled. The night breeze rustled through the foliage and the crickets and cicedas were in full chorus. He looked up at her, propped up on her elbows now. Her hair felt to the grass and the dirt, mixing with it with every slight movement of her neck.

 

“Yeah, pretty much.”

 

The sound of her amusement, however slight, calmed him.

 

“It must've been so nice to grow up here. So quiet.” He heard Celes observe aloud. She kicked her foot rhythmically at the ground.

 

She wasn't wrong in her assumption. It was a nice place to grow up, before being touched by the Empire.

 

“Sure. I didn't live here until I was a kid, but it's still a hometown if I have one, I guess.”

 

“Sometimes home is in the context of people, not places.” She mused.

 

Locke mulled her words over in his head. He had no doubt she'd heard the stories about Rachel today.

 

Celes found him earlier, in the cellar of the house on the outskirts of town as he sat at Rachel's bedside, squeezing her small hand with tears welled in his eyes. Celes descended the staircase slowly, eyes wide and lips parted in puzzlement at the thickly stagnant room of flowers and death.

 

Locke didn't speak; he couldn't. They looked at one another for a moment, though it seemed like much longer. Her blue eyes were full of shock, then inquisitiveness, then realization and despair.

 

She stepped into the dim light of the cellar gracefully, hand leaving it's clutch on the hilt of her sword and falling to the swing of her side instead. It was odd, looking at Celes in the same room as he and Rachel. She looked out of place, like a character from a story cast into the pages of another where she didn't belong.

 

He found himself in this clearing sometime later. It was the place he'd gone in his early youth to think, or to nap without the prying eyes of the villagers upon him.

 

He enjoyed the quiet hum of the forest, and the fact that he could lay in silence with Celes and close his eyes without the burden of continuing conversation. She understood the value of silence, perhaps more than he did.

 

“You're right.” Locke said at last, pulling himself from his reverie. “So where's home for you now then, Chere?”

 

He looked up at her, arms crossed behind his head. He watched her smile tightly in more like a grimace, then look down at the ground with lips pressed in a flat line.

 

“I'm not sure.”

 

Her words made him feel sad, and he immediately cursed himself for bringing such unpleasant thoughts to her attention. Whatever home she once had had turned on her and put her in chains.

 

His protectiveness of her had evolved. He consulted with her on the road about different routes, learned her flow in fighting. And under the night sky when he thought that what he wanted more than anything in the world was to be alone, Celes appeared and made him grateful she was there.

 

And when she kissed him, he could feel his heart swell in his chest.

 

He pushed the thought away immediately.

 

“I suppose after this is all over, I can worry about finding a 'home.' I've just never thought about it before.” Celes continued.

 

The memory of meeting Celes greeted him darkly and he fell silent. He felt silly for being so dismissive of having a childhood in Kohlingen when she had the past that she did. But then again, there were many things about Celes that paled him in comparison.

 

A pang of guilt followed that thought.

 

“I cannot let myself be ignorant to my role in what happened here. To you. ” She spoke with ferocity. “There's a brilliant scientist back in Vector. He's the one who... altered me as a child. I think he could help.”

 

Locke rolled back, his shoulder blade hitting a rock particularly hard, sending pain shooting down towards his elbow. He cursed and rubbed the appendage soothingly. He was skeptical of her faith in a man employed by the Empire.

 

“We'll figure it out. I have a couple leads of my own.”

 

They lay in silence again, listening to the hum of the nocturnal forest. The nightflowers were fragrant, casting perfume into the air of the night.

 

“His name is Cid,” Celes finally spoke again, her eyes warm as she recalled some distant memory. “And he told me this story of how the night came to be.”

 

“Oh yeah? How does it go?”

 

_“There were two twin siblings, Porom and Palom. They traveled the world together, discovering sights and smells, battling beasts, and partaking of the flavors and pleasures of foreign lands._

_One day Porom discovered Palom laying under a tree. He was still, his eyes open and fixed up at the sky. Porom spoke to him, but he did not blink or move. She called his name louder, but he did not move. She shook him frantically, but he did not move._

_Porom took to the skies, pleading with the gods above to wake him, and they opened to tell her, 'We cannot. For Palom has died today.'_

_Porom did not know death. She cried at the gods, attempting to bargain for more time with him. Her tears flooded the streams and the oceans, and in her grief she could no longer delight in the world she had once known._

_So the gods took the sun, and cast the world in darkness. They filled the skies with stars and the moon, and they called this 'night'. And Porom continued to mourn._

_Then at last the sun returned and the night was over. Under the rays of warmth, Porom's tears slowed. The passage of the night had eased her grief. She picked up her traveling stick and left Palom where he lay under the tree, declaring 'Palum died yesterday.'”_

 

Locke listened quietly, unable to keep himself from smiling at the thought of Celes as a child receiving a bedtime story. He caught her eyes darting to his, and from her expression he knew she begged the question:

 

'Why are you smiling?'

 

But she didn't ask, so he didn't answer.


	6. Concussion

The view from the balcony was less than appealing. Zozo was a run down city surrounded by towns of aristocracy, potentially a once promising industrial investment gone wrong.

 

“Not the inn.” Locke had halted the group when they came into town.

 

He led them to one of the quieter towers instead, though that didn't mean much as prostitutes and thugs roamed the halls.

 

They had settled in a dusty old flat, the furnishings infested with decay and mildew. The air outside was incredibly damp from the torrents of rain that plagued the town, as if the skies themselves were attempting to cleanse the city of it's corpses and sin.

 

Celes was attacked the first night.

 

* * *

 

A man descended on her from the awning above an abandoned shop, startling her as another came from behind, nimbly pulling her sword from her reach as he held a knife to her throat. It was premeditated and she was unprepared.

 

She conjured Ice, causing the man at her throat to squeal and recoil, as the one in front of her hooked a punch directly into her temple.

 

“This is one of them Magitek bitches!” The squealer declared, recovering all too quickly from her magic.

 

The two men were stronger than normal, and her vision blurred from the impact as she steadied herself. Her eyes scanned the saturated ground to find her sword in a puddle by an old pillar. She dove for it, dodging another blow from the thug as she did so, landing rather ungracefully on her side.

 

The thugs were quicker than her, and another blow to her temple made her ears ring.

 

Her heart pounded in her chest and the dull ache of a concussion set in. Her sword was just out of her reach, but she had given up on that now. It'd been a while since she put any sort of hand to hand combat to use.

 

She rolled to her side, dodging another blow. She pivoted herself off the ground in an attempt to get up when a hard kick met her ribs, sending her back to the ground.

 

“Stay right where you are, pretty girl!” The squealer exclaimed, and he pinned her down as she squirmed, attempting to throw him off of her with momentum from her hips.

 

She conjured Ice again, and utilized the the moment of shock from the man to get her dominant arm loose to take a swing, but the other man stomped kicked her in the head, causing her to cry out as the man straddling her overpowered her again.

 

She felt blood on her face. Not all of it was her own as the attacker that straddled her had a significant amount of blood oozing from his nose now from her retaliation.

 

He eyed her with a maniacal grin. “I like you.” He croaked, “I knew you'd be fun when I watched you earlier.” His breath hit her like a train, even through the heavy fall of rain she could almost taste the foulness of it.

 

She attempted the conjure another spell, but was met with yet another blow to the face causing her to break concentration. The second man took over pinning her arms as she felt the other cutting open her blouse as she screamed out.

 

The sensation made her recall something.

 

* * *

 

 

The right sleeve of her blouse was rigged with one of Locke's knives, something he offered her once on the road, which made her laugh.

 

Despite her skepticism, Locke had fixed the holster to her sleeve, his fingers nimble and coarse against her skin.

 

“You didn't offer Sabin a thief's knife.” She had observed teasingly.

 

“People look at Sabin and they see Sabin,” Locke had told her. “I don't think you'll have that same luxury everywhere.”

 

* * *

 

 

Celes had another weapon, one that her attackers were too distracted to notice, and it was currently being pressed up her arm, the tip of the knife barely nicking her skin.

 

She'd have to come up with a surprise. She'd have to be fast.

 

She willed herself to relax her muscles, to convince them that they'd won in this sick hunting game they were playing. It wasn't an easy feat, as the man over her kissed her roughly on the lips and ran his tongue and teeth over her neck.

 

 _“Nice rack.”_ He slurred against her skin.

 

Perhaps it was rage, or perhaps she knew intuitively that it was the right moment, but she slowly turned her head to the arm of the man pinning her, and bit down on his flesh as hard as he could. The act caused him to scream and release her long enough for her to have her hands free to eject Locke's knife from the holster.

 

It all happened so quickly that by the time the man who straddled her took notice, she had sank the blade into his back, ensuring that she twisted it enough to lacerate his kidney. He howled in pain in response and and she used what strength she had remaining to flip them over with her hips. He bounced against the ground amidst the force of the movement, air escaping his lungs sharply.

 

His companion had run off at then point, and she hovered over him looking like a madwoman, his blood mixed with hers on her face, coagulating in hard specks where the rain failed to wash it off.

 

He attempted to swing at her hand with the knife and missed, and she swiftly brought it down on his abdomen with all her might. He howled again, his cries muffled against the hard fall of the rain. She stabbed him a third time, then time pressing her weight against the blade and twisting it.

 

Her mind was crazed with rage. She missed the lethal points on purpose, feeling satisfied as the rush of warmth of his blood soaking her pants.

 

She rose slowly, panting heavily with one foot planted on either side of him. She still felt unsteady from the blows to her head and a dull tingle dominated her senses.

 

She left the thug there, bleeding out into the rain alone. She stumbled back outside the alley to where her sword lay. She stooped down and picked it up by the hilt, suddenly growing aware of her open blouse. She closed it with one hand and held her sword ready in the other.

 

She shuffled back to the building where they set up accommodation, her vision blurring with tiny dots in her peripherals. Storefront oglers and prostitutes stood in doorways, watching her in quiet reverence. Groups of people fell silent around her as the rain lessened, as if no one dared even a simple catcall from the maddened woman with her sword out covered in blood.

 

She climbed the staircase one step at a time, balance swaying slightly. She braced herself with the wall of the building.

 

Sabin's eyes were wide when she entered the room.

 

_“Celes! What happened!”_

 

The boom of his voice stirred the sleeping Locke, who had dozed earlier in the evening before she had left, still with one arm resting about his head and the other on his stomach.

 

An eye popped open and he jerked up when he saw her as if lightning itself had coursed through his muscles.

 

Celes pushed Sabin aside weakly as he attempted to brace her. She had gotten concussions before in training, but nothing that physically hampered her this way. She fell against the bathroom door, dropping her sword against the wall and feeling two nimble arms around her, forcing her back into a standing position as she was pulled up by her armpits.

 

“Sabin- get Gau and have him bring some warm water. Get potions. And an ether. An elixir if you can.”

 

It was Locke's voice. He echoed in her ear as he spoke from behind his shoulder to their companion, bracing her against his front.

 

She faded as she heard Sabin confirm and leave, and became mildly lucid as Locke walked her slowly to the bathroom. She wanted to let her head roll back and close her eyes but her adrenaline kept her hyperaware of the situation.

 

She felt a hand on her cheek and opened her eyes, unaware that she had closed them. Locke knelt before her, his usual bandana and jacket off, brown eyes boring into her as if searching for any possible clue that she was hesitant to divulge.

 

“Celes.” His voice cracked a little as he said her name. “Let's get you cleaned up, ok? Gau brought some water earlier for baths.”

 

Celes nodded weakly and zoned out again, listening as she heard the sound of water being poured into the tub from buckets. Locke worked quickly, retrieving a tired looking towel from a cupboard and carefully draping it over her front.

 

Her mind was as hazy as her body was sore. He was careful to loosen bits of her clothing as needed, letting her peel it off however long it took her, gently bracing her as she pushed her pants down and holding the towel around her as best she could.

 

She was too exhausted by trauma for modesty. She swayed as she stood, feeling pressure in her head as the adrenaline wore off and the swelling set in. The colored dots in her peripherals began to swim to the front of her vision, and the next thing she knew she was lowered into the tub of warm water. Her neck rested on the base of the tub and she didn't stir again until she felt the sting of a soapy washcloth against the wounds on her face.

 

She felt water dripping over her hair. Her eyes opened again and she turned her head to the man knelt beside the tub, one arm propped up by an elbow with it's hand squeezing the washcloth over her head while the other rested on the side of the tub. His chin rested next to it. He was the first things her eyes recognized when she woke.

 

“Hey.” He said softly, mustering what she thought was supposed to be a reassuring smile.

 

“Hey.” She whispered, head rolling to face him.

 

She'd never seen Locke like this, frozen in a repeated motion, eyes sad and distant and full of hundreds of questions that she'd never know.

 

The supplies. His knife that saved her. She'd left it all behind. Celes gasped in realization, gripping the edges of the tub and pulling herself forward.

 

His hand at the side of the tub stopped her, resting gingerly over her chest.

 

“What's wrong?” His eyes were wide as he eased her back down, submerging her upper body again in the water.

 

She shook her head, grasping his hand tightly. “I lost everything! I left your knife in that man!”

 

“Good.” Locke said. His eyes looking uncharacteristically dark.

 

She relaxed, unknowingly maintaining her grip on his hand.

 

“What happened, Celes?” His voice was full of angst and despair like she had never heard before.

 

“These men, they attacked me. They... were so strong.” She ran her tongue over her dry lips, tasting the blood that clotted there. Her mind was a muddled drunken mess and it was mildly frustrating to conjure the words to communicate. “I killed one with your knife before they could do anything. The other got away.”

 

Locke rested his forehead to the tub and exhaled slowly. His pale hair hung in clumps just inches above the water. She reached her hand slowly and ran her fingers through the strands lightly, something she'd never do had she been in her right mind.

 

The touch caused him to raise his gaze to hers again with a small smile. His eyes shown with what looked to be suppressed tears.

 

“I-I'm glad you got away. I just wish I was there, you know?”

 

Celes frowned, taking her hand back into the water. “I don't need you to escort me around. Have you forgotten who I am? Who I was?”

 

“No.” He spoke with urgency, “I haven't. I'd never want to forget. I just think you and me together could've caused them the damage they deserved.”

 

Celes watched his confident expression falter slightly, as if contemplating deeply what to say next.

 

“It's just... there's some bad people in this town. If something else happened I couldn't live with myself.”

 

The stress in his eyes was apparent before, but now shown different intensity like she'd never seen before.

 

“I know you don't need protection, Celes.” He continued at last, eyes looking at hers squarely. “But I know I can make things easier on you. I want to.”

 

Locke grabbed her hand again and she felt her heart accelerate again. She felt drowsy, but didn't dare fall asleep in her state.

 

“I was just getting supplies.”

 

He smiled softly, visibly relieved. “I know.”

 

“I didn't mean... to cause so much trouble for you and Sabin. We're supposed to be looking for Terra and I feel I've made things so much worse.”

 

“No.” Locke's voice was barely above the level of a whisper.

 

Locke coaxed her out of the tub with a dry towel. He eased her down on the ledge of the tub and gently helped her into the fresh clothes that Sabin had fetched for her. Sadly, anything made for women in Zozo was less than decent, so she was confined to leggings and a small framed man's tunic, but she welcomed the looseness and comfort of clean, dry fabric against her skin.

 

She protested when Locke soaked a rag in elixir and held it against her wounds, but he gently treated her with it anyway. The warmth from the solution soothed her wounds, and relieved the dull ache in her skull.

 

As she came to she felt mild embarrassment over Locke seeing her in such a state, and kneeling over her naked body in the tub. She pretended not to relish the feeling of his arm across her back and his grip on her shoulder as he walked her to the bed that their companions had saved for her and eased her down under the covers.

 

The next thing she remembered was waking to feeling him breathing softly beside her. For a moment she thought him asleep, but as her eyes adjusted in the darkness she realized he was anything but, wide awake and arms crossed at the crook of his neck on top of her covers, eyes up at the ceiling in deep thought.

 

She would be a liar if she didn't admit to herself that she felt comfort from the ordeal by his presence, but felt immediate guilt rush over her at the thought.

 

Sometime later, in the still hours of the morning, she felt his lips press against her forehead. She lay still, listening to the rustle of the sheets as he turned away from her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Celes. :/. I debated writing the graphic nature of the first part of the story, but I felt like it was necessary. Celes is tough as nails and I think something like this would be commonplace in Zozo. Next 2 chapters will be lighter!


	7. Aristocracy

Celes never spoke much of her upbringing, which Locke knew was due to the fact that she felt there wasn't much to tell. She told him once that her parents had given her up at birth for the purpose of Magitek research, but he knew the ways of the Empire enough to know that might not necessarily be the case.

 

When he saw her in the marketplace in Jidoor, he knew she had aristocratic blood. She moved from stall to stall, observing clothes and armor to replace her temporary clothes they'd obtained back in Zozo.

 

She had all the physical trademarks of the noblewoman: high cheekbones, long neck and fingers, and a slender build that would've been delicate had she not had the military training and Magitek infusions from such a young age. He wondered about the circumstances of her being relinquished to the hands of the Empire: Was it done willingly, or not? Did she cry? Did her parents cry, or were they even alive for the deed?

 

As much as Locke enjoyed sharing his inner musings with her, he kept that one to himself, silently rolling a hard candy in his mouth as he walked behind her, listening to her quip sharply back at Sabin's smart remarks about the assortment of dresses an jewlery.

 

He eyed a string of pearls, inspecting them in passing by rolling them in the palm of his hand with his thumb; they were legit. He thought of how they would look at the crook of her neck and instantly dropped them back on the table as Sabin took notice, feeling guilty at the thought when he reminded himself of Rachel.

 

How would Celes even react to such a gesture? He brushed the thought off like it never happened, choosing to walk away with his hands in his pockets.

 

He suppressed a smile later in the evening when Celes, dressed in her newly purchased clothing received an invitation in person to a party at the largest mansion in town, and a halfhearted obligatory extension to a guest of her choice.

 

Sabin excluded himself quickly, citing a suddenly desperate need to locate Gau as the reason that he relinquish the invitation.

 

 _"You know I'm no good at parties like that."_ Sabin shrugged, as Celes stood between them in silence.

 

* * *

 

 

They stood outside the mansion together as the sun set, watching prominent couples enter under the light of various carriages and gas lanterns.

 

The women were stunning, Locke hadn't seen such a collection of gene pool prizewinners since he infiltrated a party in Vector the year prior. There was slinky gowns revealing backsides and varying degrees of cleavage, crystal glasses of scotch and wine.

 

Locke stood beside Celes in the moonlight, looking to her and offering her his arm out of jest and custom.

 

She took it, which he understood as a challenge, with her hair pulled back in simple plaits gathered into a simple bun that showed of jade earrings he could only guess she had purchased that day.

 

"We need to learn more about this 'Gambler.'" She said, her voice hard and firm as she bluntly erased any sort of romantic intention that could've existed.

 

"Whatever you say," He spoke as he was mildly amused as they walked, "I'm not the one who got the invite to this place. As far as I know, I'm only eye candy."

 

Her eye roll made him smile, and they entered the home moments later, eyed suspiciously by onlookers, causing him to be grateful that he cleaned up as much as he did for the event.

 

Inside they were treated to a selection of drinks from a silver tray, both accepting a glass of wine graciously.

 

"You look out of place with the bandana." Celes observed, jerking her chin in the direction of his head.

 

"Only if you make me look that way. A _real_ lady never points out such fashion flaws in her date: she only suppresses them, and buries them deep, deep inside of her where no one will uncover her real thoughts and opinions." He winked at her, privately taking delight in the raise of her eyebrows.

 

"I didn't ask to be born a lady, so I never held myself to the standard of acting like one." She said smartly, speaking against her glass as she sipped it so that only he could hear.

 

"A lady never says such honest things." He rebutted, unable to help a smile from sneaking across his lips.

 

Celes huffed at him and left him from his perch against the wall by the entrance. They were here to gather leads on an airship, but he'd be damned if he didn't have some entertainment in the process when it involved such a stuffy affair.

 

"Maria!" A dark-suited man called to her from the stairs, causing the guests to fall silent and turn heads to look at the woman in question: his date, flaxen haired with a simple elegance in her fitted top and pants amidst the contrast of the slinky ballgowns around her. Her eyes widened and her shoulders dropped in the middle of all the sudden attention.

 

"I-I'm not-" She turned to him in search of assistance, and he could only shrug in response. They were across the room from one another now, and there wasn't much he could do.

 

 _"Go with it."_ He mouthed.

 

He watched her fumble uncomfortably with the neck of her collar line as she approached the man awkwardly.

 

"Are you talking to me?" He read her lips as she approached the middle aged man, wineglass clasped tightly in both hands.

 

The man gawked at her, letting an obvious one hand raised in retreat. "Sorry, my mistake." Locke observed him say, followed by a "Wow, you could pass for Maria in a heartbeat!"

 

His mind flashed through distant memories of the famed opera singer that he had previously seen on advertisements: the doe eyed blonde who sang at the opera house. He'd met her once, and it wasn't until now that he could see a resemblance of her in Celes.

 

He watched as the man slipped an envelope into her hand and she opened the letter gingerly, looking over her shoulder nervously to allow a couple ascending the staircase past her as she read it. She exchanged several more words with the man, and Locke was impressed with her composure. Whatever the content of the envelope held it made her visibly perspire, an observation only he could identify in the faint glisten of her collarbone under the large chandelier.

 

They locked eyes as he walked up the opposite staircase, visibly signaling her to walk over to him. She ignored him and chose to continue to talk to the man instead, so he walked by himself to the hall filled with paintings.

 

He scanned the room in his peripherals, with the men in thick coats and the women in dresses, it was no wonder he and Celes tuck out like a sore thumb at their entrance but in their lack of funds and time they had little choice.

 

"The dame has poor taste," he heard an elderly folk observe as he stood at the base of a painting on the wall, "Wearing men's clothing at an event such as this? Has she no class?"

 

"Very minimal class." Locke replied loudly, collecting the attention of the small group gathered around him "But great legs. You wouldn't be able to see those in a dress."

 

He smirked as the man scoffed at the remark, muttering lowly in a tone that even he could not decipher and the group followed with him.

 

Celes emerged minutes later.

 

"'The Gambler' we've heard so much about intends to kidnap Maria."

 

"And you have a startling resemblance to Maria, from what I've heard."

 

Her eyes narrowed. "How did you hear?-"

 

"It doesn't matter." He turned to her now, unabashed and proud of her puzzled expression. "We switch you with Maria. You attract the Gambler. We get ourselves an airship."

 

"It sounds like he's been pining for her for some time I don't think I can fool such a man so easily." She handed Locke the envelope. Looking quickly around him for any evidence of private eyes he read the letter inside:

 

_My dear Maria,_

_I want you for my wife. I'm coming for you..._

_The Wandering Gambler_

 

"But if we do get an airship, we'd make it to the Empire in no time." Celes thought aloud.

 

"Let's set up a meeting with him then." Locke shrugged.

 

Celes' cheeks were flushed red. Perhaps, it was the wine, or perhaps it was her nerves.

 

He spotted a man standing behind her, and grabbed her by the waist and spun her so that they were standing opposite from where they had been, pulling her away from the painting entirely. She stiffened, pushing him back lightly in modest retaliation of the act.

 

 _"What are you doing?"_ She hissed.

 

Her stare could petrify any man. But he promptly leaned into her ear and whispered. 'That guy. In the blue shirt.' He paused as her eyes searched the room, now fixated on the right gentleman now focused on approaching a rather timid looking young girl.

 

 

_"He was about to grope you."_

 

Celes' eyes widened in shock as she lightly shoved him. "He wouldn't _dare._ "

 

"You're not a general in these parts, milady." Locke replied, jerking his head to the man again, just as the man snuck an arm across a girl's shoulder blades, trailing down to her buttocks and giving them a light squeeze, causing the girl to yelp and tense, obviously unsure of how to react.

 

"I can't _believe that._ " She said in disgust, her nose wrinkled.

 

Locke shrugged. "It happens more commonly than you'd think."

 

She grabbed him by the shoulder. "You never..."

 

"No," He replied, "I've only done that with girls who established they wanted some sort of you know, contact-"

 

Her brows furrowed and she walked swiftly past him. He was teasing her, though it wasn't entirely untrue. He'd had many short-lived encounters with young women after Rachel when his charm got the best of him, usually culminating in a circle of self loathing.

 

"Celes!" He called after her. She spun around, ignoring several prying stares and whispers.

 

"I think we have all that we need from here." She stated, looking at his feet before her eyes flickered harshly at his face. His mouth opened an closed, puzzled as he sensed an unexpected layer of hurt from her. The truth was, he relished his time alone with her. But she appeared offended by his humor and had taken it out on him by becoming hyper vigilant in her quest to become Maria, which was originally his idea to begin with.

 

He followed her back to their room at the inn, where Sabin waited for them at the bar.

 

"You two need to get it over with already." The broad shouldered man said, shaking his head as Celes walked stoically up the stairs to their room.

 

Locke said nothing, ordering a double to his friend's drink instead of following her.

 

"I don't know what you mean. But we have an opera starlet to impersonate if we're going to get an airship."

 

Sabin raised his brow.


	8. Maria at the Opera Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Music inspiration for this chapter: "The Promise" Sturgill Simpson version

She never thought she'd look like she belonged in a theatre.

 

The piano music from Cid's library rang in her ears sometimes and she'd hum along, averting the looks from the lot of Returners when she did so.

 

Cid bought her a violin for her twelfth birthday. She practiced it daily after her combat training, until she finally broke a string and thus ended her ability to play it altogether.

 

The opera costume fittings were borderline degrading. As the small old seamstress in charge of Maria's wardrobe shook her head at her initial fitting.

 

"Too skinny. Like a rail. Disgusting. Don't you eat at all, girl?"

 

Then two days later: "Much too big. What have you been eating to get so big?"

 

She repeated the words to Locke later that day and he was incredibly amused, eyeing her teasingly and asking, "Yeah, what have you been eating?"

 

* * *

 

 

It had become a nightly ritual now, after a day of fittings and choreography and voice lessons she recited her lines to him aloud on the stage. He was an easier audience than the theatre staff; their flat stares made her panic.

 

But Locke was so expressive and enthusiastic, and always positive when it came to her. He breathed life into a world that she was ready to cast away. On a day when he was worn from battle and tired from an uncomfortable sleep on a forest floor, he never failed to over her warmth in his expression.

 

Celes walked to the stage one evening after a fitting. The seamstress had styled the top portion of her hair in a ornately twisted bun to test the look with the dress because, she reasoned, Celes' hair was much too bleached and thin from the sun to mimic Maria's full and golden tendriled look.

 

 _"No one will believe you're Maria at this rate."_ The elderly woman scoffed, shaking her head as Celes sat in front of her facing the mirror, mouth open and unsure of how to respond, other than murmuring:

 

_"I'm not an opera floozy, that's why."_

 

* * *

 

 

The lights on the stage were low, but they still burned her vision as she stood there, facing the seats where the audience would sit.

 

She stood alone, letting the nerves of the reality of the situation wash over her in a cold chill.

 

She had a dress rehearsal in several days and couldn't help but to feel intimidated by it all; It was up to her to fool and gambling man into kidnapping her so that they could obtain transport to Vector.

 

There was so much at stake because she had a bone to pick with that place.

 

A humanoid figure approached from the back of the room, walking slowly toward the stage. She recognized the figure before the voice.

 

"I like your hair like that."

 

Celes could pick out the distinctive smoothness of Locke's voice anywhere. She felt heat on her cheeks and looked to her side, crossing her arms defensively.

 

"I had a fitting earlier today."

 

His form grew clearer as she squinted in his direction. He transformed from an outline of a shadow to a man, approaching the stage and fluidly lifting his body by his palms upon it to join her where she stood.

 

The yellow light flickered behind him when he walked past the line of glare. He appeared like a character from a legend, with beams of gold shimmering behind him, reflecting from the platnium hue of his hair..

 

"Don't be embarrassed," He reached up in what seemed like a movement to touch the trail of blonde locks the fell over her shoulder, but hesitated awkwardly, resolving to drop his arm back at his side instead. "It looks really nice."

 

Celes cocked her head to the side, brows furrowed. "You should tell that to the seamstress."

 

Locke laughed. "That old bat? Doesn't she know you've killed half a bottle of whiskey in her darling Maria's dressing room?"

 

"Not by myself," Celes laughed as she allowed him to grab her by the arm lead her off the stage. "And there's half a half bottle left. I think I know what you need right now."

 

The drinking session had turned to a script read through, as her nerves were getting the best of her even with the looseness that the alcohol gave them. So Locke pulled up a chair with his copy, sitting across from her where she was perched upright on the sofa so that they sat practically knee to knee as they read to one another, passing the bottle back and forth every now and then.

 

Halfway through the script they were borderline nonsensical, slurring slightly and breaking into laughter every time Locke couldn't thumb to the next page properly or when she preceded her lines with a drunken squint at the page and a: _"Um..."_

 

He threw his head back and laughed every time, as she focused on the words of the page in front of her.

 

Celes loosened up on the sofa, leaning back and letting her posture sink into the cushions, subconsciously directing her attention to her long hair, running her fingers over in and twirling it in strands, getting distracted from the task at hand.

 

"No squall, no cloud, sh-"

 

"Locke." She spoke, interrupting him mid sentence, "Do you really think I can do this?"

 

He stopped and let the book down in his lap, leaning forward with his eyes wide as if she'd spoken the most incredulous thing he'd ever heard.

 

" _Of course_ , Celes. I wouldn't have pulled you into this if I didn't think you'd be good."

 

"I need the truth." She took a deep breath and looked him in the eyes, observing for any possible sign of dishonesty. "I-I don't know if I'm a good actor."

 

"I think you can be." Locke stayed leaning forward, his brown eyes looking at her darkly. "Haven't you ever had to go along with something that you didn't think was right, even for a while?"

 

Celes thought for a moment, feeling her smile drop to a solemn expression of despair.

 

Sure, she'd been outspoken on the sins of the Empire, but before that she justified the cruel executions and barbaric campaigns for years.

 

She'd seen families separated and placed into cages to await trial for crimes they did not commit, stray dogs picking at the carcasses of the men she'd slain, and stood idly by as Kefka played his twisted games with prisoners, often resulting in them taking their own lives in the most humiliating ways to escape the torture.

 

She thought of the farmers on the outskirts of Maranda she'd enlisted for her own campaign at Gestahl's command. She knew what she was doing to them, yet she pretended her agenda was different entirely. And more than that, she pretended she was okay with it.

 

"Yes." She said at last, setting her book down.

 

Locke was an empath, she knew by his body language around people and by the accuracy in which he read her. She felt how tense her body was and made a conscious effort to relax it again.

 

"Celes." He said quietly, putting a hand on hers.

 

"I've done so many things," Celes said, shaking her head for clarity. " _So_ many things that I'm ashamed of."

 

"Then you can parade around in a silly opera and be damn good at it, right?"

 

In her drunken haze she just nodded, running both of her hands over her face and through her hair, forgetting it's formal arrangement, getting strands loose and pulled out along the sides of her face.

 

She pushed her script from her lap and looked at him in the stillness of the twilight's grey lights that shown through her window.

 

They were both hindered by various remnants of their past, but did that mean that they couldn't find solace in one another, if only for just an evening? She craved it so, as she had been ever since the day he freed her from her chains in the basement of South Figaro. She had been prepared to die; she accepted the fate of never laughing or crying or feeling the touch of a man or anyone who claimed to love her.

 

Locke gave that all back to her.

 

She knew he loved another woman: the beaming example of maidenhood and innocence that she could never hope to obtain. But in this moment, there was only her and Locke and the near empty bottle of whiskey.

 

She'd be a liar if she said she was never attracted to him, as he slept only inches from her at night.

 

Locke was looking at her now, studying her squarely in the eye as she eased herself forward on the sofa so that her weight was pressed on her palms and he caught her mid movement with his other hand, so that both hands slid from her shoulders to her elbows and hooked gently around them, pulling her lightly to him and kissing her this time, with a stifled urgency that both delighted and terrified her, sharpening her previously dulled senses and igniting an urgency she wasn't aware of.

 

She kissed him back, responding with a firmness she intended him to know. His lips were soft and gentle against hers. She closed her eyes and met them with an equivalent fervor but in her selfish greed she wanted more, she _needed_ more contact.

 

This was different from her hesitant encounter with him in Narshe: She now knew his pain and he knew hers, and this physical contact from him numbed all of her from the thrill of it.

 

He reversed his pressure and slowly joined her on the sofa. Her heart pounded in her chest in realization of where this was going when he gently pushed her back against the cushions as she gripped him by his hair, fingers running through it and causing his bandana to come loose and drop to the floor. She felt his fingertips graze the base of her waist where her blouse was tucked in loosely, before sliding up to where she shoulder blades made bony prominces. She instinctively arched her back against him, inviting him to touch her further and she pushed her breasts against him.

 

She heard him clumsily murmur something against her lips and she pulled back for a moment, puzzled.

 

"What?"

 

"I, ah, nothing." He said, though his eyes looked to be full of questions.

 

She pulled him to her wordlessly, feeling selfish and vulgar for being with him this way.

 

She felt his kiss against the pulse in her neck and gasped, partly from feeling her own heartbeat against his lips and partly from a single thrust she felt from his hips, forcing them both to be pressed together as he lay down with her, her breath raising and lowering them both in a quick rhythm from her chest.

 

She'd been with a man before, but the encounter was always short lived and expressionless beyond the basis of pure physical want. No one saw her as clearly as Locke saw her, and when she felt his kisses against her mouth again and the pressure and heat of his bare skin against her, her toes curled in pleasure and her lips parted.

 

Surely two drunken fools wouldn't move so perfectly together in an outside view, but in her own mind they moved against each other perfectly, her hips grinding against his and his hands sliding down her back to her buttocks, squeezing roughly as her hands moved over his chest. He was long and lean, but muscular and the two of them fit together perfectly on the sofa.

 

He was sweet to her as he was greedy, slowly sliding his palms over the length of her body as he kissed her everywhere that he could reach from their cramped position. One hand curled over the bottom of her bare foot, pulling it here and there playfully while the other held her tenderly at the crook of her neck, his thumb tracing the muscles that lined her collarbone.

 

Celes pulled his lips back to hers while hooking her legs around his hips to force him to move and change their position, so that she sat straddling his lap as she towered over him with her hair falling from the bun in curtains, further isolating them from the outside world.

 

The sunset cast strange shadows on the walls of the room with it's grey light. The guilt and loathing melted away completely, even if for a little while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part one done! So I think the opera is a significant part of the story, specifically for Celes and Locke as it's referenced several times throughout the story. When I started this thing I knew it would be logical for them to 'hook up' at some point, probably towards the end after Locke wraps up his deal with Rachel. But after writing several chapters it made sense to me as something that would make the opera special to the both of them, as it adds insult to injury for Celes when Locke doubts her intentions down the road, thus changing her to the cold and distant Celes and yet another event that causes her to spiral downhill. I think in the "realist" realm that I try to write this fic it seems it just made sense!
> 
> I originally had several scenes between Celes and other Returners that I really liked at the beginning... but proofreading made me think they didn't belong in this chapter!
> 
> Thanks for all the reads/reviews! About to have a busy week, so will hopefully have part II up sometime in the near future!


	9. Maria at the Opera Part II

Locke imagined that in another life he could've relished her more than just once. She captivated his memories with every curve and knob of her spine, the harsh gasp from her throat and the simple satisfaction of how perfectly his hand fit at the curve of her lower waist.

 

He'd tossed and turned that night, unable to sleep at the overwhelming feeling of guilt and pain over Rachel as Celes slept a mere few feet away in an adjacent bed.

 

He went on a search for redemption years ago, seeking out women in distress since Rachel's death, locating them out in bars or brothels or streetwalks. They weren't hard to find either, given that the world appeared so hostile to their gender, something that he'd never taken notice of before.

 

He never did it for their affections, but selfishly indulged in a few women when the road was too long and he felt too lonely to deny it.

 

Celes was different. She had already accepted her fate by the time he reached her, broken and ready to die for her sins with a distinctive light of sadness in her eyes. He imagined it was sadness from a distant life she was perhaps bred to have, and didn't because of her family's political affiliations; that was his speculation, of course.

 

She didn't look to him for consolation the way the others did, she was merely content with being alive another day. She'd sit with him and talk for hours over the campfire or in a pub, and when her blue eyes slid from her hands or her drink to look at him he felt content.

 

Perhaps that was why he'd fallen for her; she knew of the frailties of life while boasting strength and power. She was the embodiment of the notion, with the hard pulse of her muscles contrasting with the soft curve of her breasts and the long locks of blonde hair that swept over them.

 

He didn't dare to say that he loved her. Or that he avoided her after they shared that encounter.

 

* * *

 

 

On opening night Celes spun around, her face unfamiliar yet welcome in his eyes. She'd endured at least several sessions of makeup application. Her face appeared pale, yet polished against the basic darkened frame of her eyelashes, making her crystal blue irises appear almost white in the light of the chandelier. Her cheeks were pink, and whether that was from the blush or the sight of him he wasn't sure, though the former made him more satisfied.

 

"Aye aye aye," He said with a cocky grin, "Is that you?" He acknowleged this was a glimpse of Celes had she been born a noblewoman of a house not indebted to the Empire, and a woman who'd never truly belong with him.

 

She only looked back at him in her mirror for a moment. Her long blonde hair was pulled back in a single ponytail gathered in a knot of a red ribbon at the crown of her head.

 

"Please don't tease me, Locke." She frowned when her eyes met his in the reflection, and turned to face him with the same unamused expression.

 

Locke took a step towards her and sensed her recoil back from him, so he stopped altogether. He raised his hands in open palms to her instead, a man in surrender.

 

"I don't mean to tease. You really do look amazing, that's all." He said earnestly, but the earnest response didn't seem to do him any good.

 

Celes stepped toward him now, her hair golden under the brilliant light of a chandelier. Her breasts were pushed upward and in with the pressure of her corset. He quickly snapped his eyes back to her face.

 

"Locke. Why did you help me escape back there?"

 

He winced. It was a fair question, but the context of it all made him conclude that she'd given their single bout of physical intimacy a lot of thought.

 

He wasn't ashamed of the act itself; it was special to him, and he didn't take for granted the immense vulnerability and sincerity she had shown to him. In another life, he could admit that he loved her with an intensity that she'd never know, but in this life he couldn't afford such declarations.

 

He shook his head. "I..."

 

She knew the answer, yet her piercing eyes narrowed at him, pulling the answer from his lips. "I once abandoned someone when she needed me."

 

His words caused her to close her eyes for a moment, as if processing the pain of his wayward affections. Her facial expression crushed him.

 

"Somewhere inside you were saving her weren't you?"

 

"That ribbon suits you." He remarked, shamefully relishing the sudden flush of color in her cheeks.

 

Celes blinked at him the way she did when she was processing something, silent and expressionless.

 

"On with the show." She spoke flatly, "This is a big scene in which Maria senses that something happened to Draco."

 

Locke nodded, in agreeance with the message of her subtexual cues. "You'd better check the score one last time."

 

* * *

 

 

Her eyes never settled on him, but her voice was as sweet and smooth as one would expect from an opera star. He watched her as her long arms were extended, gracefully letting her fingers relax around the bouquet of flowers that she then dropped from a parapet.

 

The audience was silent. Whether or not they knew if she was Maria or an imposter, they seemed captivated.

 

"Well done, Celes." Locke murmured with a smile.

 

* * *

 

 

Later in the evening he propelled himself down onto the stage as he watched Celes' expression change when she seethingly mouthed through her teeth.

 

_"I've got this."_

 

But it was too late. He, Edgar, and Sabin had landed on their feet ready to receive the threat from above. The spotlight shone on him, bringing heat and light to his face in contrast to the rest of the drafty theatre. He could feel the warmth boil his pores from beneath the surface, bringing small beads of sweat to his complexion.

 

Edgar and Sabin looked to him and he spun to look to Celes in her gown, instantly amazed at how she wasn't sweating profusely at this point. She looked horrified.

 

"Disaster!" The Impresario declared form his perch on the stage, "If the two heroes are flattened, the opera's over! Then who'll win the girl?"

 

Locke knew he looked like a madman, his eyes wild as he searched for a queue, his hair tousled and bandana askew, and a layer of seat that dribbled around his eyes.

 

"Neither Draco nor Ralse will save Celes!" He boomed, wincing at the subtle murmur in the audience becoming audible, "I, Locke, the world's premier adventurer will save her!"

 

The Impresario groaned. Celes opened her mouth in an attempt to muster something in response but closed it in failure to conjure anything. It was safe to say she didn't thrive on improvisation to way that he did. So when the creature dove to the stage, further shocking both the audience and the cast, Locke drew his knife, signaling to Celes to stay out of it. The Gambler was sure to be within view of her at this point, and if she broke character now they'd lose their ride to Vector.

 

Celes was obedient, shrinking back behind a prop table.

 

It was absurd, Locke thought sometime later, the lengths that people would go to for love. He wasn't thinking of Rachel at the moment; he thought of Draco and Ralse, the gambler and Maria. He thought of Celes, and wondered if she ever loved someone.

 

He had never required more self control than when he looked over his shoulder to see an unfamiliar tall, well-to-do looking, long haired man sweep her up by the elbow. Her eyes strayed to his as the man whispered something in her ear and she smiled. He knew it was all for the plan that he himself subjected her to, but he wasn't prepared for the pang of jealousy or panic as he watched her idly follow the man as he led her from the stage.

 

He sheathed his knife and followed after them.

 

Several days earlier, He drank on the porch at the inn with Sabin rather than take his customary trips to the opera house to help Celes practice.

 

"You're not gonna see her tonight, huh?"

 

"No,"Locke shrugged. "S'not like I have to see her every night. She's a big girl."

 

"Hmm."

 

His eyes flicked to Sabin to note that the man was smirking.

 

"What's that supposed to mean?"

 

"Well, I would've expected more from you." Sabin shrugged. "We came all this way, found Terra, and you devise this plot to have Celes switched out for Maria, you two are like the two mystery children, disappearing into corners of rooms and stealing away in the night together. Shit like that. And now you're sharing a drink with me? I know something's up."

 

Locke felt his eyebrow twitch, but his neutral expression didn't budge. "You don't want to drink with me like old times?"

 

"I didn't say that." Sabin shook his head, pushing Locke by the shoulder playfully. "I missed ya, bud. But I know I'm not a tall and leggy blonde with an eye for vengeance, right?"

 

"Don't say that," Locke chuckled. "You have _great_ legs."

 

Sabin laughed, rolling his head to his shoulder to look at Locke. "You're right. But hers are better. What's the deal with you two?"

 

Locke shrugged, causing his drink to slosh over the edge of his cup as he leaned back against the wall of the inn. "I've tried. There's no deal."

 

It was a lie. Sabin raised an eyebrow out of suspicion. "Damn, that sucks. I thought for sure she was falling for you."

 

Edgar pushed open the door from inside to join them. Locke brought his cup to his lips to excuse himself of any immediate response.

 


	10. Aboard the Blackjack

Celes pulled the jewelry off piece by piece, ignoring the mortified looks from her companions in the room, particularly Locke as she agreed to the terms of the deal. She remained in her dress for added leverage, as she knew men had a particular eye for cleavage and the dress provided plenty. She was willing to use any advantage should could in a poker game against the notorious gambler.

 

“First, a drink for the lady.”

 

Setzer stood before an extensively stocked liquor cabinet that lined the wall. He selected a crystal decanter from the shelf and poured two small shot glasses to the brim.

 

“And a drink for me.”

 

He spoke wryly, passing her her glass and raising his in a mock cheers.

 

Celes' nose wrinkled as she accepted it. She looked up at him from where she sat at the poker table. “I prefer wine.”

 

A lock of hair slid over his shoulder. He looked like he had been very handsome once, before his face became disfigured with scars. They were old and well healed, but left pale discolored puckers on his flesh.

 

“We can drink that after. I start every poker game with a shot.”

 

She could handle the hard liquor, but preferred not to indulge in it as it reminded her of the Imperial parties.

 

 _“Celes! Be careful!”_ Locke hissed through his teeth as she took the drink in one go, throwing her head back as she did so. Edgar and Sabin had made their way to a couch in the corner, speaking quietly in hushed voices that fell silent when Locke spoke. He had remained a mere few feet from her, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed tensely.

 

“Uh oh.” Setzer's eyes flitted from hers to his. “I'm allowing you to watch out of favor to the lady. If you can't handle what you see perhaps you should leave. And besides,” He smirked coldly at the younger man, “This is going to be nothing compared to the things we'll do together on this table when she becomes my bride.”

 

She could only see him at the corner of her eye but she recognized a familiar twitch in his hand reaching for the hilt of a knife.

 

“Locke, please.” Celes spoke sharply turned her head to him.

 

The look he gave her made her feel heartbroken and pity him. She supposed she should be angry with him for how he shut her out after they'd slept together and use this opportunity as leverage for revenge. But the truth was, she understood. And they couldn't afford to have bickering in their ranks at the moment.

 

She had feelings for Locke, and she couldn't deny that she loved being the sole object of his attention and desire, even if it was only for an evening.

 

He relaxed his arm, drawing them both tightly to his chest. She could tell he was stressed by the visibility of his veins over his arms and neck, the vessels popped out blue from under his tanned skin.

 

“Perhaps you should leave.” Setzer's eyes remained on Locke darkly as he passed Celes the deck to shuffle.

 

“He can stay.” Celes spoke softly, accepting the deck from him.

 

As she dealt the cards, Locke pushed himself from the wall and walked over to join the other two men on the couch, casting a nervous glance her way.

 

As much admiration that Locke expressed toward her, she had to admit his lack of faith in her in this moment was a little jarring. He had to know that she wouldn't have accepted the terms if she weren't sure of the reward.

 

Setzer's eyes scanned the cards she dealt and his expression remained unchanged. He was apparently the master of the 'poker face', but so was she.

 

“What's wrong with him?”

 

“He fears you'll force yourself on me.” She replied bluntly.

 

Setzer looked to her over his cards in hand with a new glint in his eyes.

 

“I would _never_. I like having willing participants.”

 

Celes remained still, feeling him eye her peculiarly.

 

Somewhere in the back, Locke shuffled and brought his leg up on a table, tapping the air with it in a quick pace.

 

* * *

 

When Celes finally laid her cards on the table Setzer's eyes widened for a moment, then he threw head back and laughed.

 

The noise startled the men on the far side of the room and they stood as Celes did, standing triumphantly before her opponent and offering him her hand.

 

She meant it as a handshake but he leaned forward over the table, resting an elbow on it's surface and took her hand in his to kiss her knuckles, fingers lingering on the callouses that dwelled on her palm.

 

“You're quite experience with the sword, I see.” He murmured against her skin, eyebrows furrowed as he sat back.

 

“I am.” She replied, “I'm Celes Chere, former General of the Imperial army.”

 

Locke, Edgar, and Sabin had walked to the table with a lonely chandelier providing light overhead, standing around the gambler as he sat, the only person in the room still currently doing so.

 

Setzer's eyes narrowed at her. “Ah, so a deal is a deal then.”

 

“So you'll help us?”

 

Setzer shrugged, rising to tower over her once more and sliding his hands into his pockets.

 

“The Empire has made me a very rich man.” He said, nodding his chin to the finery that was set in the room.

 

Celes' eyes narrowed. “Stop thinking of yourself.”

 

His eyes flickered to her once more. He stepped to the side of the table and approached her slowly, pressing a soft hand to her cheek.

 

“I'm not the man you think I am,” He said earnestly, “And you weren't who I thought you were.”

 

“That's the point of poker, isn't it?” Celes replied smartly, though she understood him perfectly.

 

He chuckled. “You're even more beautiful than Maria.”

 

“So you'll take us to Vector?” Edgar interjected, apparently sensing the spasticity emanating from Locke.

 

“I'll take you wherever you wish to go.” Setzer replied, eyes still settled on Celes, “I've got nothing to lose but my life, right?”

 

* * *

 

They had set their course on Vector, but with the backtracking to pick up the remaining members, they wouldn't arrive to the southern continent until at least late morning.

 

Setzer's ship was nothing short of a luxury machine built with the engine of a high speed military aircraft. Celes spent a good amount of time in the mirror of her cabin, frustrated as she fumbled to undo the dress and the ties in her corset. It was tied so tightly that she could barely gain the range of motion to reach behind and undo it by herself. She briefly considered cutting it with her sword when a knock rapped on her door.

 

“Come in.” Though she was in her undergarments the was still technically covered from head to toe.

 

Locke opened the door slowly, jolting and backing out slightly when he saw her state of dress.

 

 _“No, please come in.”_ Celes pleaded. “I need your help.”

 

She turned so that he back was turned to him, the strings of her corset in their full, tightened display.

 

“Ah.” Locke eased himself inside, “Those things are vicious, aren't they, not that I know from personal ex-.”

 

“-It is vicious. Please help me” Celes interrupted him to plead. She clutched the front of it with both hands. She felt his fingers unravel the knot at the bottom and tug the garment apart in little strokes.

 

“Did you ah, want something?” She asked, suddenly considering why he might;ve come to her room in the first place.

 

“Yeah actually,” Locke spoke humorously, “When I actually decided to see you this isn't what I had in mind.

 

She felt relief with every pull he gave her by the string, loosening the corset and allowing her to breath and and her abdominal muscles relax for the first time that day. She felt normal again.

 

He continued. “I wanted to tell you that I'm sorry.”

 

Her chin shot to her shoulder so that she could see him, though his eyes were downward in concentration at the task at hand.

 

“What for?”

 

He looked to her for a moment before looking back down. “You were brilliant today, Celes. I shouldn't have acted that way back there.”

 

She felt the absence of his hands and heard in step back. She turned, clutching the fully loosened corset with both hands at her chest to keep it up.

 

“Thank you.”

 

It was all the she could muster to say before he continued.

 

“You deserve to unwind and have your time alone. But the rest of us are having a good time downstairs if you want to join.”

 

She wasn't sure why, but she took step toward him and he took a step back in response. A single gas lamp was lit in the room, casting a golden glow on his ashen blonde hair.

 

Locke took another step back and opened the door, turning over his shoulder at her. “You should come down with us when you're ready.”

 

He left, closing the door behind him.

 

Celes let the corset fall to the floor, along with the remnants of her undergarments. She pulled the ribbon loose from her hair, letting it cascade down her back. She looked at her naked reflection in the mirror, all the bony prominences of her collarbone and the ribs over her chest revealed themselves with every inhale, pressing to the surface of her skin. Her hips curled around her skin crude curves,

 

She felt she should be proud of herself. No one could deny she was a good actor. Today she'd played Maria and Maria's opera part, she'd played the gambler and arguably even Locke.

 

_Locke._

 

The thought of him made her shiver as she submerged herself in the steaming heat of the bathwater. She recalled the gentle way he cradled her head in Zozo and the purple bruise on her hip from where he'd gripped her too tightly out of passion. But he was far more devoted to another, even in death.

 

She submerged her body beneath the water, closing her eyes and leaving her nose above the surface for air. She felt her hair sway and move around her with every slight nudge of her head. She wondered if he'd miss her nearly as much if she submerged herself completely and never broke the surface again.

 

* * *

 

Downstairs, she heard the staggered plunking of keys on a piano that only distantly resembled a melody as she found a seat at a table with Cyan and Sabin as Edgar and Setzer spoke quietly by the bar.

 

“You must be exhausted,” Cyan nudged her arm with his elbow and Sabin pragmatically poured her a glass from the decanter of wine. He slid it over to her and she accepted it gratefully. The small rush from the scotch from earlier had long worn off, and she felt the impending anxiety set in as they closed in on the southern continent.

 

“I am.” She smiled weakly at Sabin in thanks. She took a sip and leaned her head on her hand, tangling in the strands of her hair still wet from the bath.

 

“I was wrong about you.” Cyan leaned toward her, his dark eyes solemn and sincere. “You've done more for our cause than I could ever accomplish. I hope you accept my apologies.”

 

“Not necessary,” She replied, taking a larger sip of the drink in her glass, “I could, after all, be setting you up for an ambush now.”

 

Sabin snorted, picking up on her dry wit faster than Cyan had, with the latter eyeing her skeptically before breaking into a smile.

 

“Elayne had that same wit, she never cared for the flimsy wisdom of the other women of Doma.” Cyan told her earnestly, “She would've loved to have a friend like you.”

 

Celes circled her glass with her finger, awaiting the familiar euphoria that wine gave her to set in. “I'm sorry for what happened to her.” Her eyes flashed to his, “Leo and I didn't approve of it, and had I not been imprisoned at the time I'd like to believe I'd intervene if I'd known beforehand.”

 

Cyan shrugged. “It was Kefka, Gestahl who enabled him. I know that now.”

 

“To be fair, Kefka is capable of much worse.” She hadn't directly though of her Magitek predecessor in a while, and the thought of seeing him again made her uneasy.

 

“What could be worse?” Sabin interjected, topping of her glass though it wasn't nearly empty.

 

“He delights in his own methods of torture that he finds inspiration for from his own abilities.”

 

Cyan's eyes widened. “You've seen it?”

 

Distant memories of corpses and near-corpses in varying states of death and degradation consumed her. Children beside parents, husbands bound and forced to watch as their wives were taken.

 

“I was 'mentored' by him for a bit. I've seen some.”

 

“Let's talk about something else.” Sabin cut in again, his blue eyes noting her discomfort.

 

She shook her head as he topped off her wine again, feeling heat rush to her face as she heard the question: “What are your intentions with Locke?”

 

Celes rose an eyebrow. “Only if you tell me of your intentions with the barmaid in Jidoor.”

 

“That's easy, purely carnal.” He and Cyan both laughed, and she remained stone-faced, sipping her wine and shaking her head.

 

“Your turn, then.” Sabin challenged her jovially.

 

Celes shrugged. “Purely carnal.” Her drinking mates roared with laughter over hearing a woman say such a thing, but her eyes strayed to the far side of the room where Locke sat at the piano, and in a moment of clarity she realized that he was the producer of the bare bones of the melody that played in the room, however smoother it was now that he had warmed up.

 

“I'll leave you two to your childish speculation. Let me know what you come up with.” She told Cyan and Sabin, rising from her seat as she grabbed her glass, declining Sabin's offer for yet another refill.

 

Perhaps it was the liquid courage that soothed her senses and anxiety, but she crossed the room and sat beside Locke on the bench, taking a swig from her glass as she set it on top of the instrument.

 

He stopped a scooted to the side to allow her more room.

 

“I didn't know you played.” She observed, watching his hands as they started to pluck at the keys again.

 

“My father did,” Locke replied, not looking up from the keys. His facial expression was focused and his shoulders were tense. “Whenever we came to a new town he would spend a while at the piano in whatever tavern was close by.”

 

Celes had never picked up on it until now, but he had the slightest northern accent. It was something she was unaccustomed to being from Vector and even from her small amount of exposure to the world outside there.

 

“He taught you, then?”

 

“Not really.” He made a blunder and out of frustration, terminated the piece altogether and started something different. It sound like a waltz, and the pinky finger of his left hand proceeded the remainder of the chord as it bounced from octave to octave, and his right hand began some melody from memory.

 

“He played without music. Said he learned that way.”

 

Celes sat in silence. There was a whole world of things about Locke she'd never known, and why would she think that he would tell her it all in the short time they'd known one another?

 

“Here.” He said, halting the music again and setting her fingers upon the keys so that every digit had its own space.

 

“This is an inverted C chord, it's easy to remember.” He covered her hand with his, pressing her pinky finger downward followed by two beats from her middle finger and thumb. He showed her the octaves, and how to bounce back and forth between two of them.

 

She got it down as he took a swig from her glass and set it back down, reaching out his right hand to pick out the melody again.

 

They got though several triumphant stanzas before she muddled it, fingers spastically cramping from the unfamiliar activity.

 

“Ah, sorry.” She laughed as he looked at her with a mockingly disappointed expression.

 

“Are you not an opera star?”

 

They were close now. She could practically feel the steady, slow heartbeat in his chest and the warmth of his limbs.

 

“I'm not, but I'm told I'd make a good imposter.”

 

He laughed and winked at her and he helped her rise from the bench to join the poker game that was forming at the table where everyone else sat.

 

It was the perfect night, she decided. They only missed Terra, but she sat at the table playing her cards against the people who had helped her on her path and in conjunction with the alcohol she felt her anxiety fade, if only for an evening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My longest chapter yet! I changed the Celes/Setzer 'coin toss' to a poker game because I thought that would be more fun and it felt like the game summed it up to a coin toss for simplicity's sake, but in reality poker would be a lot more interesting- though when writing it I realized that it had been forever since I last played poker, so it is what it is! Next chapter will cover the road to Vector or Vector itself from Locke's POV. Almost caught up the the beginning!


	11. Bonfire

“I think my grandpa is fading from this world.” Rachel told him, her dark eyes wide and serious with a sincerity that made him full of sorrow.

 

Locke nuzzled her bare shoulder from behind.

 

They lay in the barn behind Kohlingen, where no one dared to wander on crisp fall nights. Though they alone with their body heat left plenty of warmth.

 

“What makes you think that?” Locke asked, speaking with his lips pressing against her smooth, olive skin. Her grandmother had passed only days earlier of a sudden illness, leaving her grandfather to sit alone by the window of his home, as he could no longer walk through the house as he pleased without assistance.

 

Rachel rolled onto her back in the bed of hay and brought a hand to his chin.

 

“I went to see him today and he said, _'I had a dream that Natalie died last night.'_ but I reminded him that grandma died several days ago. He seemed surprised and confused.”

 

Locke brought a hand to her neck, feeling her react to his touch, and brought his lips to her warm skin softly, before pulling back to prop his head on his hand.

 

“I can't imagine being married that long and suddenly losing that person.”

 

Rachel blinked several times, as if she was holding back tears. “Do you think that will be us?”

 

“It could be,” Locke shrugged, “But we're gonna have so many memories together before that happens. Just like your grandparents.”

 

She pulled him back in for another kiss.

 

Rachel was always pure, gentle, and sweet.

 

At least that's what he could remember.

 

* * *

 

They made camp not far from Albrook, since the light of day faded below the tops of the trees and the group was fatigued.

 

Locke walked though the small camp they made, a huddle of tents and various bags that had been cast aside as they picked the spot on the side of a hill. Gau had disappeared per usual, and Sabin had left to check the traps he'd laid. Celes had gone off to take a bath nearby, and Edgar busied himself with inventory.

 

Locke rubbed his hands together as he walked to keep warm. This land was cooler and dryer than what he'd been used to.

 

“Locke, we require your expertise.” Setzer beckoned him as he approached the remaining group huddled around what looked like an attempt at a campfire.

 

Locke shook his head. “I wonder how you can Edgar are related sometimes.” He knelt beside Edgar, Figaro's king who sat in a circle beside Setzer and Cyan.

 

“We both learned want we must out of _necessity_.”

 

Locke grabbed the flint from his hands and waved him off. “Yeah, yeah.”

 

He struck the stone several times. No luck. He rearranged the kindling, adding more dried moss and small twigs to the arrangement. The men around him sat in silence, no wanting to irk the one whom they were relying on for warmth.

 

“What's going on? What happened to the fire?”

 

Locke looked over his shoulders. Celes had returned from the river, her hair in wet clumps and she massaged it with a blanket in her hand.

 

“Locke here is having some trouble getting it started.” Edgar nudged him playfully.

 

“Don't be ridiculous.” Celes chided them as she dropped the blanket and took the flint from him, striking it once before she had a flame to nurse to life.

 

Locke allowed her to do so passively, catching the faint lavender scent of her hair when she leaned beside him, her eyes narrowed in concentration on the task at hand.

 

“Sabin is going to be back soon with a catch and he's going to need something hotter than this,” She observed, “I'll get some better kindling, if you all can manage keeping it going until I get back?”

 

Locke said nothing. There was a change in her tone towards him, and the others had undoubtedly picked up it by now.

 

She rose, sweeping her damp hair over one shoulder and disappeared into the wood line before any of them spoke again.

 

“How do you live with yourselves, sending a fine lady like that into to woods at night on her own?” Setzer leaned back from the little fire as Locke nursed it.

 

Locke and Cyan exchanged a look.

 

Cyan shrugged. “She's more than capable of the task.”

 

Locke agreed silently, pushing the images of Celes stumbling into him after she was attacked in Zozo from his mind.

 

Setzer rose, dusting off the length of his jacket as he did so. “Well if neither of you are up to the task, I'll go.”

 

Locke twitched. Had he acted on impulse he would've jumped up and darted off toward the trees before Setzer took another step. But her remained still, letting the man stride by, looking down on him with a perplexed look as he went.

 

“Should we trust him alone with her?” Cyan asked, looking back at him with eyebrows raised.

 

Locke shrugged. “C'mon now, you've seen him fight. I'm more afraid for him going off in the woods, with or without Celes.”

 

Cyan chuckled. “Undoubtedly.”

 

The older man paused, and Locke felt the sensation of being observed by two wise and dark eyes across from him that twinkled in the firelight.

 

“What happened between you two?” Cyan spoke again finally?

 

“I'm not sure what you mean.” Locke replied flatly.

 

Cyan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, eyes steadily boring into Locke as he did so.

 

“I can recall a time not so long ago that you would have jumped to be at her side, not matter how menial the task. I can see that she cares for you, yet you push her after you've pulled her in.”

 

Locke felt his eyes flicker in bitterness. “I'd never...”

 

Cyan watched the growing flames. “Perhaps I'm interpreting it wrong then. I just think you should've gone with her just now.”

 

“I wanted to.”

 

“Then why didn't you?”

 

Locke sighed. “I crossed the line with Celes. I can't let that happen again.”

 

Cyan's eyebrows rose, “'Crossed the line?'”

 

Locke shook his head. “I don't want to talk about it, Cyan. After this is all over and done I'm going back home to Rachel. I have to make it right.”

 

“I see.” He felt Cyan sizing him up some more.

 

“Have you considered a circumstance where in the event you are unsuccessful in reviving her?”

 

“Yes,” Locke replied, the adrenaline of the seriousness of the conversation causing his hands to tremble slightly, “But I won't let things end that way. Not while there's a chance.”

 

“And if it were you instead, would you want Rachel to assume your place as of now?”

 

Locke stared at his hands, caked in dirt and bracing the flames as they rose.

 

_'No, I'd want her to just be happy.'_

 

A distant figure of Celes appeared in his peripheral, walking while swinging an axe leisurely with every step, several paces in front of Setzer, who had several good sized pieces of timber stacked in his arms.

 

Locke never answered Cyan aloud. He understood that Cyan spoke with his best interest in mind, but didn't feel that the man fully grasped the complexity of the situation.

 

Celes met his eyes briefly, smiling politely as they did so, and preoccupied herself with unloading Setzer's arms and feeding the fire.

 

* * *

 

Later in the night, after Sabin and Gau returned with a wild hog's corpse that roasted over the fire in pieces, Locke lay with his arms crossed behind his head, as the remainder of the party dosed in the tent and around the site, bodies laying limply in lifeless clusters, bodies that one would never anticipate had such an ambitious task to complete.

 

Locke watched her, rounding the campsite and collecting tin trays and plates for washing.

 

He swallowed. There was truth in what he told Cyan; he felt a sense of betrayal and guilt when he engaged Celes physically because he liked it, he actually wanted more of her. He wanted to love her, to cup her face in his hands and profess it, to feel her heartbeat under his hand as she moved over him, to grab her hand as her thin fingers interlaced his and push her on her back. He wanted to make her gasp again, and to feel her shudder as she tucked her forehead into the crook of his neck.

 

He wouldn't do that, not ever again, but he supposed he could roll off his ass and help her clean the dishes.

 

Locke rose and jogged up from behind her and she was carrying the stack to a stream.

 

“Hey,” He half whispered, watching her shoulders jerk as he startled her.

 

“I didn't know you were still awake.” She said quietly, accepting as he offered to carry some of the load.

 

“I'm sure I'm not the only one.” Locke replied earnestly, “I just wanted to help.”

 

He saw a small smile creep upon her lips. She said nothing.

 

Cyan was ignorant to the situation, but there was some wisdom in his words, Locke decided. He felt sad, thinking about Celes on her own, wandering the world and conquering beasts without a home to return to. He didn't want that life for her; in reality he wanted her all to himself.

 

It was a selfish thought, but a real one.

 

She knelt by the river and tossed him some soap from her bag, and after tucking her hair behind her ears she went to work. He thought about how strange it must be for her to return to a war torn land ravaged by her own command as a traitor, and a secretive rebel operative.

 

He admired her for that.

 

Locke followed suit. They sat quietly like that for some time, before a distant memory came to mind.

 

“Did I ever tell you about the time I got kicked out of the bar my first night in Kohlingen?”

 

Her stern features lightened and she paused, laughing a little and turning to face him.

 

“No, I don't believe you have.”

 

Locke exhaled deeply, his fingers gloved by a rag, scrubbing mercilessly at a pan. “Okay, well it's pretty embarrassing. So you can't repeat this to anyone.”

 

Celes' eyes glinted at him in the moonlight, reflecting light and mirth.

**Author's Note:**

> I absolutely fell for these two during a recent and long overdue playthrough. Thanks for reading!


End file.
